


Knight Rider

by Pippin4242



Series: His Beloved Armour [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Chastity Device, F/M, Femdom, Pegging, caged dick, originally called "The One Where Reinhardt Gets Pegged By Ana In The Arsch"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-04-18 13:35:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14214255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pippin4242/pseuds/Pippin4242
Summary: Life in Overwatch is active and thrilling and filled with worthy deeds. But sometimes it's hard to take a moment to think about the things which really matter in life, like sticking things up Reinhardt's bum.





	1. Secure

Overwatch was a wonderful project, but sometimes it was very difficult to get done the things that one needed to get done. To whit: Ana Amari wanted very much to speak to Reinhardt Wilhelm, but a thousand and one other duties and pressing matters seemed to prevent her at every turn.

Outside the meeting room she tried: “Löwenritter, I need to – ” and was cut off by the Captain, carrying three boxes atop each other, and looking vaguely harassed.

“Sorry Ana, am I interrupting something?” Jack looked tired, again.

Ana took two of the boxes. “It's nothing. Are you getting enough sleep at the moment?”

And he brushed her off by asking more questions and getting her input and being somewhat charming right up until he left again and Ana realised that he still hadn't promised to actually get any rest this evening.

She tried to look down from the towering windows to see if her knight was anywhere obvious on the base, but had no luck. What use was being a sniper when you couldn't scope the biggest prey on the Rock? Dammit.

Intending to make a sweep through the base until she could find him, Ana strode out of the room, rounded a corner, and nearly fell head-first down the stairs by smacking into Torbjörn, averting a full collision at the last moment by flinging herself to the floor.

There was a nasty sting in her knee where it had smacked into the metal edge. She stifled a scowl of pain. This was _not_ the sexy little moment with her man that she'd been planning out.

“Torbjörn, I'm so sorry,” she said, ignoring the obvious _I didn't see you_ and picking herself up. She dusted her trousers down. “Are you okay? I'll take more care in future.”

“It's nothing, I'm sure,” grumbled Torbjörn, with the faintest hint of a smile playing at the edge of his lips. “It would hurt you more to run into one of my turrets.” He leaned against the stair rail and cracked his knuckles. “Speaking of them, did Morrison come by? I sent off to the OE for some papers they had on file – I was hoping to see about that today.”

“Oh,” Ana muttered, caught off-guard – she _had_ seen a package for Torbjörn, somewhere with Jack's things – but where had they put it? “On the...” she flapped her hands in futility. “Somewhere. In there. I'll come and look with you.”

Ten minutes later a very cheerful Torbjörn was sitting on the desk in a flurry of incomprehensible photocopied blueprints, and Ana was finally leaving the meeting room again, having completely lost track of her knight. Of course she was happy to be here, to be finally doing her job properly after the chaos of the setup, but right now it was _infuriating_ to get sidetracked so badly. Half the fun of a purchase like this was making him really _anticipate_ the moment that she would decide to use it.

She strode out into the midday sun, shielding her eyes from the flickering sea-glare. Now she was in the open, it surely couldn't take long! Reinhardt was as tall as Torbjörn sitting on Ana's shoulders, and practically as wide as the table. There was no way she could lose him here for any length of time.

“Liao!” she called out, breaking into a half-run as she approached her teammate. “Liao, have you seen –” but Liao held up a finger for silence and kept walking; apparently Ana was interrupting a conversation with somebody or something which wasn't physically present but which _was_ regarded as more important than Ana. _Again_. She found herself compulsively tugging at her own cuffs, smoothing out her sleeves in irritation.

She powered on up the hill, through the canteen, out into the hangar. Everybody she bumped into seemed much the same height as one another, which somehow felt very boring, and almost spiteful of them. He wasn't at the guard post. He wasn't in his room. He wasn't in the gym.

He was standing outside the barracks, his back to her, his knuckles resting against his hips. He'd taken off his jacket since she'd seen him leave, and his back looked _incredible_ through his tight t-shirt.

“Reinhardt!” she called out, excited, and her knight turned to face her, his expression lighting up. Unfortunately, his movement revealed his original purpose in lingering there: Gabriel Reyes had been talking to him, completely concealed by his large body. So her second attempt had failed, and, what's worse, she could feel a blush coming on. _What was her cover story what was her cover story what was her cover story_ – she faked fatigue, leaning over, her arms on her knees, panting. That way she could hide for a moment.

“Lieutenant, are you well?” asked Reinhardt, alarmed, and placing a huge hand on her shoulder. “I hope you didn't rush here on my account. What did you want to speak about?”

“Oh, it –” she panted, “it can wait. I see you're speaking to Gabe – hi Gabe, sorry, I didn't see you there. You know. Reinhardt being quite big, you know.” The Oscar was surely on its way to the Rock.

“I was just leaving,” said Gabriel, giving Ana a curious look. “I'm sure you won't be troubling me if you speak to Reinhardt. Ana, are you really that out of shape?” He had some kind of _notion_ , she was sure, and she didn't like what he was insinuating.

Ana glared daggers at him, and then an alarm went off. “Not a drill,” came Liao's voice, urgently over the speakers. “Flare-up, threat of severe violence on mainland UK, all heroes report immediately.”

The three of them set off apace. Ana was the fastest from a standing start, but Reinhardt, who always took a while to get into gear, shot past her in great thundering strides.

“You can't have been all that tired,” Gabe called.

“This is different!” she replied, irritated, and they ran in silence until the two of them rounded the corner to the transport ship, where Ana could see Reinhardt bending over to grab his backplate and head on board.

It was a wonderful, wonderful ass.

But she wasn't about to put anybody in danger over her desire to fuck him in it.


	2. Groom

Reinhardt could feel the Lieutenant's eyes burning a hole in his shoulder as they buckled into the transport.

“Something on your mind, Sir?” he asked, attempting a lighthearted tone.

“You are imagining it,” she said, brusquely, and so he knew he wasn't.

He wanted to support her, to help put her at her ease once again, and he wondered whether he could do anything without arousing the suspicions of those around them. While there was nothing in the regulations or in his contract stipulating that they shouldn't be sleeping together (he knew, he'd checked, really quite carefully), Reinhardt was well aware that their relationship violated form, but what could something like that really amount to in Overwatch? With so few people on the 'hero' team, it was hard to feel that anything much was being transgressed, when it was over so small a thing as a difference in rank, and he felt somewhat entitled to make that call – being, as he was, the party who might technically be being taken advantage of.

He shifted just a little in his seat. Not only was the padded area just slightly too small for him, but having to keep the same position for too long was making him uncomfortably aware of the cage she'd locked his dick in – tight, somehow rather soothing, and keeping all his senses overly alert.

“Mmmmm,” he grunted under his breath, locking one knee as he pushed at the floor of the transport. Ana caught his eye for just a moment and looked pleased with herself. It was a feedback loop; Ana's attention right now reminded him of the _other_ attention she paid him, and the body temperature metal of the sheath against his cock felt like her _hand_ was stroking and holding him, but the rest of the team was there and it was so embarrassing... but that was what she wanted from him, after all.

It pleased her. Reinhardt shuffled in his seat and tried to ignore it, just enough to evade anybody else's suspicions.

“Why Reinhardt,” enquired Lieutenant Amari, in a gentle, almost motherly tone. “You seem a little uncomfortable. Is something on your mind?”

“Apologies, Lieutenant,” Reinhardt managed, in what he hoped to be a light, friendly tone. “I think my mass is making something of a mockery of the so-called padding on this seat.”

“Oh, how awful for you,” she replied, her voice dripping in honeyed sincerity. He felt sure she'd put just a tiny bit too much emphasis on 'awful.' Mocking him, drawing his attention to things (sensations) he was trying to keep out of his mind right now. “I do hope we can do something to sort that out once we get back to the base. You must tell me these things, Reinhardt. We have a responsibility to all our heroes. Diverse skills are hand in hand with diverse needs, after all.”

“You are most kind,” he replied, inclining his head slightly to indicate his respect.

It was still there, and it was nagging, and now he was thinking about the hard seat as well, it really was bothering him. It seemed as though no matter how carefully Reinhardt shifted his weight, the tops of his thick thighs were getting in the way, rubbing against the base ring of the dick cage. If they did that usually when he sat, he hadn't really noticed before. There was a chafing awkwardness, extending to an unpleasant tugging around the whole package. Admittedly the tugging wasn't all bad, but he was trying so hard not to draw attention to himself...

_Trying so hard_. Even _thinking_ the word 'hard' seemed to make his poor, ignored cock swell and press against its bars.

He barely managed to suppress a moan. He could feel the noise die away in his throat, where it had threatened to emerge and make a scene.

Reinhardt tried to focus on other things. He cleared his mind, which had been so easy before Gibraltar, and waited for something to occupy his thoughts. Instantly, a sheet of raven's-wing hair filled his mind's eye. Her tawny-amber eyes, smirking down at him, her strong, smooth thighs, her waist made small and rich and glowing in his two pale hands – ack! This wasn't working at all! And now he was definitely hard, which was _extremely_ distracting, given his cock's present predicament. Think, Wilhelm!

No windows to stare out of and refocus his mind and body. Instead: what had been occupying his Lieutenant's mind when she was looking for him? It had been before the call to action came, so it perhaps wasn't work-related. Personal. Personal. _Fucking_ was personal. _Ana fucking Reinhardt_ was personal.

His asshole was tingling.

Reinhardt tried to use a hand to cover as much of his face as possible, nibbling at the edges of his thumbnail as he pretended to be lost in sensible, entirely non-salacious thought. He unfocused his eyes and pointed his head in the direction of the central seam of the panels at the centre of the transport. He _knew_ Lieutenant Amari was looking at him, she had to be, he could _feel_ it.

His toes drummed in his boots. It felt like tiny lightning strikes were going off in his thighs and lower back, his balls were _hot_ and he just wanted her cool, smooth _hands_ around him. He was fine with the cage! The cage was a great idea! He had had no regrets, bar the first awkward attempt at cleaning himself, and Lieutenant Amari had been very kind about giving him plenty of _freedom_ within the confines of her bedroom. But it _was_ very distracting at times...

Lieutenant Amari met his eyes and smiled sweetly.


	3. Saddle

Her knight was all out of sorts, Ana could see. This pleased her. She would have hidden a small smile behind her hand – that is, if she'd needed to, which she did not. Ana knew very well that her training as a sniper gave her limitless control of her body and her breathing by comparison with others. She could sit here pretty as a picture and just _glance_ at him and watch his breathing lose all its rhythm, while his pale skin turned strawberry. Nobody would ever connect his heightened alertness and darting gaze with anything she might have done, serene and professional as she looked.

She knew that wherever he looked, no matter how pointedly his gaze failed to meet hers, Reinhardt was thinking only of her. And damn, it felt good.

Ana truly cared about him, as a person, of course – and professionally to boot – but on a purely sexual basis, this was a feeling he was allowing her to gain from her interactions with him, and she'd be damned if she wasn't going to let herself enjoy it after all the work they'd been putting in together. His attention, his obedience – his whole being – made her feel like a queen. Like the sun shone out of her arse. She'd been sleeping well since they'd started this up – fucking will do that to a person, of course – and she was sure her skin had been feeling better than ever. This whole arrangement was working out very nicely for her.

Reinhardt was staring at the ceiling.

Ana smirked, but she smirked internally.

\---

The mission seemed to be a damp squib. Obviously it was a good thing that tensions had reduced, and things had been smoothed over since the initial intel had come in. Ana had always taken care not to become one of those fools who prays for a conflict to spark the embers of her tragic war-driven soul (and they were out there; she'd met them) – but to go from toying with her knight on Gibraltar Rock to lying on a slate roof in a pervasive mist was a bit of a shock to the system, and threatened her libido somewhat. Her hips were grinding into the cold surface beneath her, and her hair was soggy and sticking to her face. Her back was probably ruined forever, she internally declared, dramatically.

Down there somewhere, on those cramped, noisy streets, her unit and her knight with them were influencing events directly, and knew exactly what was going on whenever it happened. People were patching messages through to her from time to time, but the information was sparse, and sometimes self-contradictory.

Snipers were patient, but Ana didn't know what she was waiting for any more, and she just wanted, deep enough to make her bones ache, to take Reinhardt _home_ , to drag him down by his hair, ram his face into the pillows, and fuck him hard, in the arse.

She was still completely set to take a shot at any given moment, still ready and peering through her scope at the damp road beneath her, from which the crowd had long dispersed, and along which she could see only commuters hurrying at this point, and a disinterested young man vaguely waving a charitable bucket. But Ana, well aware that the threat had long passed, compartmentalised and tried to use some small part of her mind to tell Reinhardt: _“I'm going to fuck you, my knight. I'm going to top you and dominate you and make your legs tremble. I'm going to take this wonderful strap-on I've bought, and I'm going to ram it into you, and I'm going to pulse my hips, and you'll feel every bit of it while I still keep my wits about me – dammit, Reinhardt, I'm cold and bored but I'm going to fuck you later.”_ She kept her eyes open, sending a mental beam out into the open air: _“I'm going to fuck you because you're mine and I can.”_ Not that she believed much in any of that, but it was better to focus on sending an imagined psychic booty call than on her equipment pouches slowly shuffling upwards into her belly and chafing and being awful. 

Footsteps! A quiet shuffle on the stairway leading to the roof. Ana tensed and realised who it was: those footsteps, though measured, were heavier than any she'd ever known before, or likely ever would again.

She didn't turn. “You damn fool, I could have shot you.”

“And would you have, Lieutenant?” asked Reinhardt, cheerfully.

“Perhaps,” she replied, still looking at her area of interest.

“I volunteered myself to relieve you in person,” he said, with his usual warmth. “It was not thought _expedient_ to admit your existence and role in front of public figures, though I'm sure they might have guessed it.”

That explained the patchy comms, then. Snipers were often out of fashion.

Ana got up and stretched, hard. “It's over, then?” She twisted from side to side, and felt something in her lower back go _thunk_.

“Yes, yes, all sorted, sir,” he said, unguarded.

Well! If it was 'sir' then nobody was listening in. They'd gone out of their way together not to attract undue attention in that regard.

“Reinhardt Wilhelm,” she began.

“Is this what you wanted to tell me earlier?” he broke in, transparently excited.

“I've been _shopping,_ Reinhardt...” said Ana, beginning to break down her rifle and carefully pack the scopes.

“Did you cross the border again?” he asked, politely. She remembered this – his patience with gifts, despite his curiosity.

“Why yes, I may have done...” she trailed, mysteriously, and did up the zips. Slinging the rifle bag over her shoulder, she strode over to him, refusing to let him loom by accident.

He placed a hand against her shoulder, seemingly instinctively, as one might steady something small and hard to see. She gave him her best steely gaze.

“I've bought myself a _harness_ , Reinhardt...”

Ana stepped in closer to him, feeling the incredible heat from his body. He must only just have removed the power armour. She put a hand against his chest. He visibly gulped.

“A... harness, sir?” he asked, in a distant voice.

“Oh, yes. Not to restrain myself in any way, you understand... it's more a question of _unleashing my potential_.”

Reinhardt was crimson, and extremely flustered. Ana reached up behind his back, and caught his ponytail, pulling him in even closer, so they were pressed against each other in the cooling air – her, damp with mist, him damp with sweat.

“Potential, sir?” he asked, in a strained tone.

“Yes.”

They stayed like that for a moment. Perhaps Reinhardt thought it a test; he didn't ask any further questions. This was good behaviour, Ana felt. She rested her head against his torso – on any reasonable man, she surely could have reached his chest or shoulder, but in fact that was too far up for her. This was more a top of the belly kind of thing.

“Reinhardt?”

“Sir?”

“I intend to fuck you in the ass tonight until you scream my name.”

Reinhardt stared into the middle distance.

“Sir?”

“Speak.”

“I can tell you that the cage you purchased for my dick is _most effective._ ”


	4. Adjust

The return journey seemed to pass in a haze. Reinhardt felt as though he'd passed through some kind of threshold without resistance, like a hot knife through butter: he was beyond even trying to hide his arousal. Now he simply _was_ the arousal, perfectly capable of making polite and professional conversation, albeit at some kind of odd intellectual remove. It felt like he was looking down onto another Reinhardt, who wasn't awkward or embarrassed at all! He felt he could be reasonably sure that the other Reinhardt was engaging, charming – the man seemed to be on his absolute best behaviour. In many ways it seemed that he was looking down onto the Reinhardt he'd been before he left Eichenwalde and fell so desperately out of place. People were laughing at a joke he'd just made and couldn't really hear, and he was slapping Lieutenant Reyes companionably on the shoulder. Meanwhile, rest of him just sat still inside, and burned with desire for Lieutenant Amari to mount him.

The Lieutenant made polite, genial conversation with everybody throughout the trip. He wasn't singled out; she didn't meet his eyes unless they were speaking to one another. Reinhardt wished he could unstrap his seatbelts, stand up and lift her into the air; whirl her around, tell her he loved her in front of everybody. It wasn't so much that he wanted to demand her attention and gaze be solely focused upon him – it was more that he wished deeply, irrationally, that he could know that he was the only thing on her mind, just as she was on his. Lieutenant Amari gave nothing away that she didn't mean to, not ever, and it was torturous to be unable to see beneath that perfect placid still-water surface.

Reinhardt couldn't sense the time passing any longer, but he was sure that the journey was taking far too long.

\---

Night was thinner on the rock than it had become in London; the team had beaten the stars to it. There were owls, and the obstinate, hollow thundering of the water below them, but there was still a trace of evening warmth left in the air. Reinhardt bade the team a good evening before taking a walk down to the cliffs, as was his habit, listening closely to ascertain whether he would be noticed. Casually, almost as if it were an afterthought, he wheeled on the spot and strode at last to the Lieutenant's room, where he'd spent every night since their first. Instead of knocking, potentially attracting attention, he gently opened the door, giving her time to object if she needed to. She never had.

Lieutenant Amari was seated on the edge of the bed, apparently relaxed and in good spirits.

“Not before time,” she commented, mildly.

“Sir, forgive me: I fear undue attention might make our arrangement more difficult to maintain,” Reinhardt admitted, ducking his head in abashment.

“It wouldn't do to have you moved anywhere less accessible,” she allowed, and patted the space beside her, inviting him to sit.

“It's a good night,” he informed her, sitting comfortably. He leaned back and stretched his legs out in front of himself, hearing a rewarding yet faintly alarming collection of creaks and cracks.

“A hot bath later, I think,” Lieutenant Amari informed him. “Your body is magnificent, and I won't see you take any less than the greatest of care with my property.”

Reinhardt closed his eyes and felt a smile spread across his own face, unsummoned. It was so good to know where he was meant to be. While he knew, intellectually, that he was still fulfilling just about every criteria he might be expected to achieve as a competent adult – he went to work and answered to a superior officer, he chose his clothes, he washed himself (well, usually it was him) – it never felt as though she wouldn't take those duties off him, given any slacking on his part. That would make trouble, if it were to happen, and perhaps it would shatter the illusion that his Lieutenant could have full control over him. Perversely, this kind of thought always made him more determined to please her and attend to her needs and whims: neither of them wanted this scenario to end.

He felt the mattress raise slightly beneath his legs and rump, buoying him a little higher as the Lieutenant hopped down and padded across the floor in her socked feet.

“Disrobe, please,” she called from the bathroom.

“Right away!” he replied cheerfully, and began to strip down, tossing his clothes to the foot of the bed to deal with later. He could feel the sweat still on him, and fought the notion that he'd be less desirable in this state: he knew very well that Lieutenant Amari had not yet showered since the trip, and he certainly didn't find her any the less appealing for it (if anything, it was quite the opposite). If she wanted him to shower first, she would let him know.

There was a plastic sort of a noise, like picnic cutlery. She was getting ready.

Reinhardt pictured the situation, and without thinking, knelt next to the bed, facing away from the bathroom. He rested his upper body on top of it, pushing a handful of the bedding to his own face and breathing their mixed scent deep.

Her soft footsteps drew closer. Reinhardt squeezed the covers tightly.

“Whyever would you hide from me like that?” Lieutenant Amari asked playfully.

Reinhardt didn't peek. “Where would you prefer me, Sir?”

“Upon the bed, Reinhardt. Face me. We will lift your legs and go from there.”

Reinhardt leaned against the bed as he stood, and he turned and he saw her and he saw _it_ : a slender dildo, dark blue, jutting impudently from its harness. The soft straps were tight against her bare upper thighs, and curved in two slashes over her hipbones and around her toughened willow waist.

She was giving a measured look to the lube in her palm, as if trying to measure up whether it would be sufficient.

“Nnnnrk,” said Reinhardt, which did more or less sum up his feelings at that particular moment.


	5. Mount

Reinhardt's utterly prone pose was a bit inert, Ana had decided. It was very pretty, seeing him ready and waiting like that – his thick, firm buttocks slightly parted, his incredibly defined calves rising up from the floor, his cute little arsehole looking inviting and coy, like a wink – but she felt she wouldn't be appreciating him to the fullest if she couldn't see his open, honest, totally guileless face when she rammed it into him. But it _was_ very good to think that he'd decided on that by himself – that he knew to let her take charge. And he didn't complain or try to justify himself as he clambered to his feet and took a new position, fully atop the bed – what a _good_ and obedient knight she had. A _highly_ reliable young man to call upon.

He'd picked up a slight tan already, she realised, watching him lie down upon the soft, midnight-blue covers. Mostly just his face – there was a distinct tideline where his gorget ended. Reinhardt was taking good care of his skin, ensuring the sea glare didn't damage it – Ana had seen to that – but it seemed just a little was still getting through, giving him a slightly rugged, outdoorsy air that she wasn't sure she'd seen in him before. The contrast made the rest of his body look milk-white, and she felt a great urge to mark it in some way, though which she wasn't yet sure of. A bite? A tattoo? A lipsticked kiss?

She stepped closer and took one of his enormous calves in her hand, and lifted it gently, letting it rest upon her shoulder as she stood. Reinhardt tensed his thigh, taking a little of the weight, which was good – Ana wanted to be manoeuvrable.

“Well then,” she said, simply, and pressed her lubricated fingertip to his arsehole.

It gave easily enough, and she felt a pulse in her fingertip as she pushed through his ring.

Reinhardt tensed for a moment, and then relaxed, his breathing not laboured but noticeably measured and rhythmic.

“Sir,” he interjected, his voice low and quiet.

Ana checked the impulse she felt which urged her to be annoyed, and instead reminded herself that Reinhardt was very, very well-behaved, and surely knew better than to ruin the moment.

“Speak,” she allowed.

“I thought it might please you to know – I took the liberty of cleaning up on my way over...”

Ah. Now that _was_ a thought which had bothered her slightly. Ana saw herself as sexually quite assertive, but this was her first time going in for the kill with a man, as it were – it was so hard to imagine her knight making a mess of the covers that she'd chosen to put the issue out of her mind as far as she could. But he _had_ been with a man, she knew, though Ana wasn't sure how many times, or whether he'd been giving or receiving. But it seemed from this that he knew plenty about how to take care of himself, at least with regards to penetration (the less said about Reinhardt's first attempt to clean himself whilst wearing the cage, the better. For Ana's nerves, for Reinhardt's nerves, and for the sake of the floorboards beneath the sink, which had ended up cleaned to within an inch of their life.)

And yet, that wasn't the whole of the thought. That Reinhardt had made things easy for them both was good. That he had felt the need to do so indicated perhaps that he'd thought she wouldn't have him exactly as he was, and while she hadn't relished the prospect of getting dirty, she'd been perfectly willing to do so in pursuit of this moment she'd wanted with him.

Breathe.

“Thank you for informing me, Reinhardt. It _is_ good to know what to expect... but I do hope you know that I would have been very happy to fill you up if you hadn't done so, and deal with any – consequences later.”

Reinhardt, prone and looking up at her, appeared doubtful for an instant, but meeting her eyes and broke into a warm, sincere smile. He was a burst of sunlight in her life, there was no doubt, and even if they hadn't put a label on this, she hoped it would last and last and last. Ana reminded herself to keep her expression inscrutable, not wanting to lessen the gravity of the moment they'd set up by grinning right back. But she felt a spark of warmth and brightness spring back up inside her, mirrored.

He was tight about her fingertip. Either he hadn't been an extremely regular recipient of this kind of attention, or her preconceptions were a little extreme. She might ask him to tell her more about his previous experiences one day, but there was a comfort in knowing they'd come this far, become this close, without her ever needing to know that much about him. Ana listened to everything Reinhardt was telling her without his words, instead: he was tense about her, his breathing overly controlled – he anticipated, but wasn't overwhelmed by what she was doing so far.

She slipped the finger in to the second knuckle, and saw his toes curl and uncurl. His breath perhaps just a little less even. Ana withdrew her finger slightly, and pressed a second to his hole, slipping them in alongside one another.

He inhaled quietly, and closed his eyes. His thick arms were spread out across the covers, the hands half open, and his fingers twitched as she slipped her own deeper into him.

Ana sank onto her knees, using her free arm to lean on his lower body. They looked so good next to each other, she could see, and wished she was filming this so she could truly appreciate their differing bodies as they came together.

Carefully, she aligned a third fingertip with his hole. She could see that there was still plenty of lube glistening there, as she ran it against him, making him gasp. In it went, the other two mostly withdrawn to meet it.

Thicker than her new toy, she was sure – if he could take these three fine, he should be okay with something a little thinner, even if she had no sensation in it. She was leery of getting the angle wrong and hurting him, so it was good to know that he was still comfortable right now.

“Is that nice, Reinhardt?” she asked, gently.

Reinhardt opened his mouth, without opening his eyes.

She pushed the three fingers in a little further.

“Uh!” he gasped, and pulled at the covers.

Very good. It seemed he was ready.


	6. Knight Rider

Reinhardt was very quietly worried that he might look ungrateful.

Certainly, he'd taken it in the arse before. But those were drunken, loud, exciting times, when a celebration could turn so easily to an embrace, to a song, to a kiss, to a thump on the back, to a casual hand job. It was sloppy, dark, warm, so he'd hardly known one knight from another, though he'd come back to Balderich again and again – and by the time he'd been taken, the pleasure of the other man had always been the focus of such an experience. This quietness with Ana was jarring – the focus was on him, the room was lit, and she was face to face with him.

Reinhardt _liked_ it in the arse! It could be difficult, and he'd had times which had been less pleasurable than others, to say the least, but he loved to please, and in general the worst he'd felt had been brief pain, or the sensation of being totally overwhelmed. Nothing bad, nothing traumatic. But it had definitely been his intention to let somebody come inside him, or to let them pump away, withdraw, and triumphantly spurt over his back. An incredibly positive and mutually satisfying experience, followed by an embrace, or a passionate kiss, or a blow job! He'd never felt exploited, and he wouldn't have much minded if he had. But the thing was... he'd always been facing away from his partner, and it had always been about the other man.

He knew, and was worried that Ana would see: as soon as he was penetrated, he'd tended to go totally soft.

She was three fingers deep in him already, and he was still hard as a rock inside his cage and beginning to panic. Admittedly that feeling probably wasn't extending to his face – he couldn't help feeling relaxed when somebody had been stroking his arsehole – but it gnawed at his stomach in any case. This was about him – it was a kindness his Lieutenant was doing him – and he was about to make a mockery of them both. Oh it felt good - _so_ good right now – and he was left in a warm haze, vaguely aware that the Lieutenant had gone out to wash her hands. He felt his own weight so clearly, conscious of the way the mattress pressed back up underneath him, of the covers bunched beneath his arms, of his ponytail caught slightly behind his neck. It was as though he were wearing three suits of armour at once. Ana's penetration had taken all the fight out of him – all the energy he usually expended on holding himself more casually. Now he was just a bag of rocks, unable to move from the bed.

And she was back, standing between his spread legs.

“My, you were patient, weren't you?” she purred.

The midnight blue dildo glistened in the artificial light of Ana's room. If a gleam like that could have made a sound effect, Reinhardt wasn't too sure what it would actually be, but it would definitely make it quite loudly.

She stood firm, her legs braced slightly apart, and Reinhardt was transfixed by a single bead of lube gathered at the head of her strap on. It filled him with the thrill of seeing Ana with her own cock, one which fit her body and suited her perfectly. Against her powerful little body, it was neither too thick nor too thin. The form of the dildo wasn't overly anatomically correct, but it had an inviting head, and it looked as though she were ready for him. _Fuck_. He knew he'd been worried about going soft, but that was so fucking hot.

She stepped in a little closer, and put her small hands atop his thighs.

It was so cold against his hole that he felt himself start. But the shock was far from unpleasant, and the same could be said for the pressure as Ana slowly leaned against him, gently opening him back up.

“Oh,” he said, his voice wavering slightly. He couldn't think of anything more erudite.

She slid in further.

“Oh!” he said, more firmly. His balls were tight, and he could feel himself pressed against the end of the cage.

The firm silicone head brushed past his prostate for the first time and Reinhardt felt himself tighten, his rectal walls pulsing beyond his control. This was agonising. Everything was hot and tense and too damn much, and he felt like he needed to pee.

“Sir –” he breathed, desperate.

“You want to come out to play?” asked Ana, an indulgent smile creeping across her face. “I know you know better than to beg. You weren't going to _beg,_ were you?”

She reached down and pushed Reinhardt's caged dick to one side. The discomfort and tightness were excruciating. He closed his eyes against it, the word “please,” already dying in his mouth as he tried desperately not to annoy his master and be denied.

She withdrew a little, and thrust into him again, her lithe body seemingly spring-loaded.

“Sorry,” he managed, at last.

“I think perhaps that is all a merciful master could ask of you,” she said, agreeably. “But don't forget.” She gave him a couple more thrusts for good measure. A silken, muscular thigh brushed against his own leg, and the very sense of her made him feel as though he was going to pass out. Still he did not beg.

Deft hands were at his cage, twisting, releasing, carefully withdrawing him. Ana carefully laid it down on the covers.

Reinhardt vaguely remembered that he'd been worried he wouldn't be able to keep it up.

This was no longer a concern.

“My –” he gasped, as she pounded him, “ _Gott_...”

Her head was low as she thrust into him over and over, her hair obscuring her face. Reinhardt wanted to hold her, to clasp her to him, but she was otherwise occupied. He felt hot, confused, hard as hell, his head swimming and the room blurring a little.

“Sir...” he moaned. His legs began to tremble.

“You may stroke it,” she informed him casually, “but slowly.”

Reinhardt eagerly grasped his manhood. His hand felt hot and his fingers thick and too big, but it was still so, so good. He slicked his palm with precum and pulled in time with Ana's thrusts. His fingers were tingling and there was a frog in his throat and he was starting to forget which direction you even use to rub a penis, but his hand seemed to remember, even if he didn't.

“Slowly,” Ana reminded him, lifting a hand from her leaning position to briefly swat at him.

“Yes,” rumbled Reinhardt. He held it tight near the base, with slow, squeezing strokes. It reminded him of his cage, which he felt rather exposed without. His thighs were still shaking, and his teeth felt strange, as though there was too much pressure inside him. He was full of Ana and full of fire and full of love, and it was leaking from his eyes, and from the cock clasped in his trembling hand.

“Oh – Sir, Sir –” he distantly heard himself gasp. “ _Sir_ –”

And Reinhardt came harder than he'd ever come in his life. Thick ropes of cum splattered onto his belly, a shuddering orgasm racing up his body, making his torso burn and his hands and feet go cold. “OH!” he cried out. “Oh! Ah!” He could feel his pulse pacing out waves of heat and pleasure.

Ana pulled out, watching him shake and moan. Reinhardt's hands fell limp onto the bed.

“Thank you!” he managed, with great effort.


	7. Rub Down

Reinhardt lay over the edge of a bed like a felled redwood, legs akimbo, eyes closed, and splattered with cum.

Ana stood over him watching the subtle changes in his body. The spasmodic tension of his orgasm seemed to leak out through his extremities, and he slowly started to relax, his breathing deep and heavy. He didn't look like any person she'd ever met in her life, but god, he was beautiful.

She padded barefoot to the bathroom and shrugged the harness down her legs, leaving her knight's new toy in a tangled mess at the edge of the bath to be cleaned later. When she returned he hadn't moved a muscle, but his breathing was even deeper and more relaxed. His body rose and fell like the sun, full of power and potential and wonder in her eyes.

Ana knelt on the bed and clambered carefully to Reinhardt's side, pressing herself against him. His skin was damp, with the sensation that it had been burning with warmth and was now rapidly cooling. She reached across the bed, above her head, to one of her scattered blankets, a woven geometric design with blazing stars throughout, and fluffy tasselled corners. She pulled it over her body to tuck across Reinhardt's chest, widely skirting the mess he'd made on his hairy belly.

“Don't freeze, my dear,” she murmured.

“Mmmmmm,” affirmed Reinhardt, his voice a rumble which travelled right through her.

Ana's hand crept across his trunk-like chest, her fingertips tracing the thick bulges and ridges of his muscular form. She closed them over the far side of his body, pressing her face into his side, just below his armpit. His firm flesh gave just enough to rest her head comfortably, as if these two wildly differing shapes had always been meant to fit and support one another.

She closed her eyes and affectionately ran her leg up and down his. There would be space to talk when he was ready. It had been an eventful evening.

When she awoke it was clear some time had passed. The distant sounds of people on the base outside had given way to nothing more than the occasional bat chirp, and the waves. The room's light was still on, but there was no more natural dusk light filtering through her thin curtains.

Reinhardt still lay on his back, his legs bent over the edge of the bed, but his arm had found its way around her body, and his fingers were tangled into her hair.

“Hey, big guy,” she whispered.

“Mmmm?” grunted Reinhardt.

“Want to do that again some time?”

“Sounds... very good, Sir,” he said, in a slow, measured tone. “I think I would have to work hard to try to deserve it.”

Good boy.


End file.
